


Talk to Me

by Deannie



Series: Tank [4]
Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 15:02:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1903443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I suppose we have all been deluding ourselves, thinking that the danger of fallout from Peter's imprisonment had passed. And yet, with one simple bust, it all seems to have come crashing back on him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk to Me

I can see.

Daily affirmations with Peter Venkman. I can see. I can see the ceiling and I can feel the sheets wrapped around me, and I can smell the coffee Spengs started for the morning.

I slide out of bed, trying to push away the dream that woke me up at this insane hour, and run a hand through sweaty hair. Oh, joy. One more day of too little sleep. Hell, I'm better than this during a battle with the beast! Insomnia's got nothing on raw terror, huh?

Ray's still making like a phone perv with his heavy breathing, and Zed's snoring away. They haven't said much about my early mornings lately--mostly cause I'm so damn good at playing fine.

But I am fine, really.

I'm fine.

Egon's in the lab, and I pad down to the kitchen and grab a cup of what he calls coffee and bounce back upstairs again, ready for another day. 'Cause, hell, the days are sure a lot better than the nights.

"Hey, Spengs. What're you working on this time?" I slip into his personal love nest, dropping onto the couch with abandon. Good couch. Wonder where I'm going to nap when it finally falls apart?

"Up early again, I see." His tone is anything but casual.

Damn. Never could hide much from him. Still, gotta keep my hand in. He never holds lying against me when he catches me quick.

"Just awakened by the sound of your hamsters running," I tell him, smiling.

"Peter, if you would please refrain from comparing my mental processes to a pet in a wheel..." He sets down the circuit he's assembling, and meets my gaze head on. "Why are you awake?" His glare softens. "Another nightmare?"

I sigh. "Par for the course, Spengs. If you didn't expect 'em, then none of my astounding prowess as a psychologist has rubbed off on you at all."

He's still staring.

"Egon, I'm fine. Really. It's just fallout."

I'm fine.

"When are you meeting with James again?"

Oh, subtle. Not. "Tomorrow morning for breakfast--like you didn't already know." I leave my favorite couch reluctantly and walk over, sincerity oozing from my pores. "Egon, I'm good, okay?" I sip my coffee, just like a normal guy. "I'm just going a little stir crazy, is all." I smile winningly, like I used to. "Any good busts today?"

He seems satisfied, and turns back to the gizmo. "Dr. Guider hasn't cleared you for busts yet, Peter. You know that."

"Guider's a quack." I hate him. Damn, don't think I've ever actually hated my doctor before, but... Schmuck! "He wouldn't know a healthy guy if one bit him--and I might!"

Egon smiles faintly at that, and I know he's okay.

And hey, I'm okay, you're okay!

As long as I get out there and back to normal soon.

***********

It's three days later, and I've had it.

"I'm going."

Spengs looks at me like I've grown another head, but there is no way in hell he's talking me out of this. "Peter--"

"Can it, Spengs, I'm going."

"Come on, Pete." Winston's putting on his best "commonsense" tone, but I don't care. "Look, you've been through a tough time. Give yourself a break."

"I've had a break, Zed," I remind him, rising from the couch and pegging him with a glare. "Three-- _two_ whole weeks of it. I'm fine. I can talk, I can walk--I gained five whole pounds since I left the hospital--"

"Leaving you only ten pounds underweight," Egon announces angrily. "Peter, you are hardly up to a bust at this point."

"I'm sure as hell not up for more moping around here!" I exclaim, turning away from them.

God, why can't they understand? It's been two weeks since I got back from the Senseless Zone, and they've been smothering me--never letting me out of their sight, making sure I'm "communicating." It's been more than exhausting, and I'm not going to sit around and play the mental invalid anymore! I need to get back to something approaching normal. If I can't do that, there's just not much point.

"It's a simple little bust, Egon," I whisper, a wheedling tone in my voice that I've used a hundred times to get my way. "What could go wrong?"

**********

What could go wrong?

Man, I just ask for it, sometimes. This is _not_ the class four they advertised. Or if it is, it's on some serious steroids.

Oh, and did I mention they're running a two for one special?

So, with two really nasty goopers to take care of, we got split up pretty much the minute we stepped onboard this rusted-out old tub at the east docks. Winston and I have been running all over the main deck, trying to get this damn thing in our sights. I have no idea where Ray and Egon are, but I hope they bag their spook and get their butts up here pronto, or we're going to be in some serious trouble.

"Pete, watch it!" Oh, thanks, Zed. Like I couldn't have figured that out myself. I thought we were done with stating the obvious for little Petey. I drop hard to the left, and the ugly zips over me with a whine of protest.

It has tentacles. Okay, not so strange, when it comes to ghosts, but a class four... The formerly human should just not have tentacles. Four appendages, that's all I learned about in anatomy. I don't know what the meters were reading today, but...

"I think Egon's a little off this time, Pete!" Winston informs me, dodging a long octopus arm, flattening on the deck with a metallic clang and a grunt.

I fire a blast, narrowly missing the gooper, but at least getting it off Winston's back for the moment. "I hate to say it, Zed, but Egon needs to spend more time with his meter."

I drop with a similar clang, feeling the jolt more than I would have a month ago. I'm definitely not a hundred percent yet, but the exercise is doing me good--even if it's not quite what I had in mind.

"I know what you mean, man. Didn't think I'd ever hear myself say it--"

And apparently, he never will. "Winston!" My call is drown out by the almighty whomp of a large Ghostbuster hitting the bulkhead. Hard.

Octopussy over here turns an almost human grin of triumph on me, as I watch Zed slide down the wall, not quite senseless. Pussy sees it too, and he looks like he's ready to finish the job.

Shit. Okay, Zed, I'll give you two minutes of Venkman Decoy, and then you damn well better be on your feet and after me, you got it?

"Hey Ugly!" I have this ability to piss off damn near any ghost I want, just by calling to them. I don't know, maybe it's the fact that I'm never complimentary about their looks, but they always seem to respond.

Of course, the fact that I give 'em a good swift kick in the butt with Old Bessie might have something to do with it, too.

"Come on, Dr. Octopus, come on," Another proton blast has him turning away from Winston--finally--and he looks at me like I'm dessert. Which is fine. Dessert's the best part of the meal--and I sure as hell don't want him to finish the main course before he gets to it.

"Pete..." Zed sounds rough, but I don't take more than a glance at him--I can't afford the time.

"Just come when you can, Zed," I call reassuringly, shaking away the afterimage of blood running down his face. "I'll keep the sushi cold for you."

*********

"Egon, trap. Now!"

Ray drops hard to one knee as I manage to free a hand and throw out the trap. His ribs are almost certainly broken, from the sound of his labored breathing, but at least the ghost is finally restrained. With an unearthly wail, it slides defiantly into containment, the white light mercifully shutting off along with its screams.

"Raymond?" I ask, slipping an arm around his shoulders as I drop to my knees beside him. "Are you all right?"

He simply nods for a moment, breathing in shallow pants.

"Broken?"

He nods again, a tight smile, so unlike his usual bright grin, gracing his face. "I think so. Safe bet, anyway."

"Let's find Peter and Winston, and we'll get you to the hospital."

He looks up as I rise, staring at the hand I offer as if he couldn't possibly take it, and a frisson of fear runs through me. Perhaps he's more seriously injured than I thought--more seriously than _he_ thought. But after a moment, he simply sighs and grabs it, pulling me off-balance slightly in his bid to gain his feet. He does, finally, and leans, hands on knees for a moment, before straightening with a gasp.

"I'm okay, Egon," he promises, though I know he means simply that he isn't likely to hamper the bust, and not that he is truly physically well. Perhaps of us all, only Peter is adept at hiding his pain from the rest of the team. "Let's go find the guys."

Moving at well below our top speed, we mount the narrow stairs to the main deck, listening for the sound of proton blasts and hearing only eerie silence.

"You know, Egon," Ray begins, panting rather more than necessary, given the one flight of stairs we've had to climb, "I wonder why those ghosts didn't read as class fives when we got here?"

I find myself wondering the same thing. To all appearances, they seemed to be simple class fours when we arrived. Yet the problems we had capturing just this one were... formidable. Had I had time to more than glance at my meter during our heated bust, perhaps I could have deduced the reason.

"I don't know, Ray." I tighten my grip around his shoulders as he stiffens in pain. Hopefully, Peter and Winston have dispatched their own entity, and we can depart quickly. "I do not believe the meters are miscalibrated. Perhaps--"

"PETE!"

Winston's cry is nearer to panic than I am willing to deal with at the moment, and Raymond stiffens again, this time in fear. He is off before me, his ribs forgotten as we run toward the call.

*********

Okay, Zed. Been a hell of a lot more than two minutes. You better not be back there nursing a little bruised rib or two. It better be at least a collapsed lung, or I'm...

Damn, Venkman. Way to paint a depressing picture.

Okay, Winston, I'll make you a deal. You come out of this relatively intact, and I'll forgive you for leaving me with ole nasty here, okay? Ray and Egon are going to get an earful, but you...?

**********

Where...?

Damn! I feel like I've been kicked by a mule. Or a class five...

What the hell am I...?

The sizzle of a proton stream, too far off, snaps everything back into place for me, and I'm on my feet and running toward it before I feel the swell of nausea buliding.

"Pete!"

Another blast of protons, but no reassuring answer from him. Damn! How'd I let that thing get the drop on me? And where the hell is Pete? This thing's nastier than we thought, and with just one thrower--

"PETE!"

************

All right, that's it! I've had it!

I whip around as I hit the end of the hallway, the open door of a storage closet gaping at me on the right--right where I figured another hallway would be. A pessimist might call this a dead end, but...

Okay, I call it a dead end, too. But damned if I'm going to let this freak in purple get the best of me.

"All right, Eight-legs, that's it!" I pull my thrower up hard, aiming for what could be called a head. "This is the end of the road."

At least for one of us.

A tentacle reaches out like lightning, catching me in the chest, and I'm suddenly airborne--flying into a wall as a heavy clang fills the air. Pain wraps around my ribs, and I fight for breath for a minute, lying on the ground and sucking in precious oxygen. The ghost isn't here. It didn't follow me. And the silence is really getting thick in here--even if the air isn't--and...

It's dark.

Oh God, it's dark...

I lurch to my feet, pushing hard against my ribs to hold them in place, and stumble forward two steps before I run into the door. The door of the closet! I can't... if I push this door, it'll open, right? Oh, God, it won't open! Pounding on it only hurts my hands, and I can feel the solid metal of it. I can feel--

Guys!

Ray! Egon! Winston?

Shit, help me! "Help me!"

Oh, God, not again!

*********

My head's clearing, slowly... There's an almighty clang up ahead and to the left--God, I don't even hear him firing anymore! This was supposed to be a simple bust. Hell, under normal circumstances, this _is_ a simple bust, but...

But since the closet, nothing's been normal.

"Pete, where the hell are you?"

I hear footsteps too far behind me--two sets, one heavy, one light. That's Egon--light on his feet as always. Gotta wonder sometimes if his feet even touch the ground when he runs.

But only two. Just him and Ray... I turn one more corner, praying for the sound of protons, and fetch up hard enough to start my head spinning again.

This corridor runs the length of the barge, and at the very end, just turning its sick green eyes toward me, is the five. The satisfied leer on its face leaves me cold, and I'm running again before I realize it, firing one hopeless shot down fifty yards of hallway.

Luckily, it's coming to meet me, and the beam hits it halfway along, pissing it off, but not much else. Where's Pete? He isn't down. I don't see him at the end of the corridor... But that grin...

Like it already got him.

************

Oh God, I'm trapped... I'm fucking stuck in the tank again, and there's nobody to get me out this time! Zed's--Zed's down... He'll be all right but...

God, but what if he isn't? What if he couldn't get up and follow? What if they never find me--

No! No, get a grip, Venkman. Get a fucking grip! You've got your pack. You can get out of here yourself now.

You don't need them. They aren't coming anyway. Just shoot your way out--

SHIT!

Okay, firing up my thrower in a small metal box? Not the best way to stay healthy. I can feel the shivers of backlash starting, and the thrower drops from suddenly nerveless fingers. I'm going numb...

And it's so dark...

And I can't feel anything. I can't talk.

Oh, Jesus, not again...

 _Please_.

*************

Raymond has fallen behind slightly, though I can hear him struggling to keep up, breathing harshly through the pain of broken ribs. I pray it isn't any more than that. I pray he hasn't--

"Listen!"

His rasping command has me sliding to a stop, to hear the welcome sound of a proton stream... But only one.

"Winston!"

"Egon! Ray? Get your asses over here!"

We do so, running through a short maze of disjointed cabins before emerging halfway along a hallway that runs the length of the upper deck. The second specter--equally as unpleasant as the first--floats angrily between us and Winston, who stands, bleeding and angry at the other end.

"Could really use a hand here, guys!"

"Make sure not to hit him!" Words of obvious reason from Ray, but they are hardly needed.

With three beams, it is a simpler matter to trap the ghost between two fronts, and I begin to breathe again as Winston throws out a trap, though I can hear his gasp of pain from here. Still, the class five mounts faint resistance as it is drawn into the suction of the containment field, and Raymond is running unsteadily for Winston before the trap's doors even snap shut.

"Winston!"

Ray slides to a stop, shaking painfully with his injury as he looks our friend over. Winston has dropped to his knees, leaning against the bulkhead for a moment before struggling back to his feet.

"Pete..." His eyes are worried, and I feel a shiver as he stalks quickly past me toward the far end of the barge. I shake off the feeling of something walking over my grave...

And damn myself for the saying.

*************

They aren't coming...

Not this time. Hell, maybe last time was just a dream, right? I just... imagined that they came for me. Maybe I can see when I dream... It's the only time I can.

"Peter!"

Winston? I know you can't hear me, man, but I'd love it if you'd come get me. I'll even wash Ecto for you.

"Peter, where are you!?"

I'm right here, Ray... I think I'm dying. I'm all... shaky.

Can you hear me?

"Pete!" Zed, forget it. It's too late now, man. You had your chance. Or maybe you didn't.

Their footsteps are coming this way, but it's kind of useless. They don't even know I'm here.

I wish I could see something.

Damn! Okay, be careful what you wish for--the light's a little much, actually, and the clang that came with it...? Might want to tone that down, too.

"Peter?" You're getting warmer, Ray. "Peter--Guys, I found him!"

You did? Who?

"Oh, damn... Egon, looks like he tried to blast his way out." Should have worked, too, Winston. Guess I'm not as smart as I think I am. I'm glad you're all right, at least. "He's got serious backlash."

"Peter, can you open your eyes again?"

Again? Oh, yeah... The light. Um, okay. I'll try.

Ray?

"Peter, you'll be okay. I promise." Ray's... touching my arm--sort of. I can _almost_ feel it. "Just hang on." He's panting pretty hard, like he just ran a...

Egon's got his hand on my forehead now. I can at least see that. "Peter, can you hear me?"

Haven't we been here before? And isn't that a song? Man, thought I sang every one I knew in this damn closet... Styx. They were great.

"Peter, say something... Please?"

Okay, Egon, you asked for it.

"What the hell" took you guys so long!?

*************

Dr. Guider is... less than pleased with us.

His first impression of Peter's state of health was the same as our own--two bruised ribs, and a neural short-circuit made worse by the confines of his temporary prison. There seems to be no permanent harm done, but he is still unconscious, still shaking with the tremors that we all know too well.

And Dr. Guider is still angered by our allowing a man in "such fragile health" to take part in anything so difficult as a "simple bust."

He needn't chastise us--we appear to be doing a fine job of that ourselves.

"We should have tied that boy up and _made_ him stay home," Winston observes weakly for what is possibly the hundredth time. His temple is bandaged as is the growing knot at the base of his skull, and he is certainly looking gray around the gills. But concussions will do that, and he refuses to make use of the nearby bed they've admitted him to, preferring instead to remain in a stiff-backed chair at the foot of Peter's bed, his eyes riveted on the twitching form it holds.

Ray is pacing, ignoring--for the moment--the pain of three broken ribs and my sound advice that he lie down, if Winston will not. And I...? I am sitting, hand over one of Peter's, gauging the tremors that wrack him through the twitching of his fingers, and wondering faintly why he has not woken.

It has been nearly six hours. Much longer than he should... be sleeping.

"That must have been a hell of a jolt."

Winston's matter-of-fact statement seems almost laughable... Almost. In any lucid state, none of us would be foolhardy enough to attempt to gain freedom from a steel-lined storage area with a proton rifle--particularly one at full power. Which means that Peter, who not so long ago found himself trapped in a situation not dissimilar, must have been in a less-than-stable frame of mind.

He must have been terrified.

"It must have been like that dimensional rift all over again," Raymond whispers, as if reading my thoughts. "I bet he was scared."

And Raymond bleeds whenever anything frightens the rest of us.

"He'll be fine, Ray." My words wring a small grin of gratitude from him, but his eyes go back to Peter, and the grin fades.

"I just wish he'd wake up."

If pleading tones such as those had the power to awaken our unconscious friend, I'm certain I could come up with them myself. But time, not gentle words, is what Peter needs now. "He did, as Winston put it, receive quite a jolt, Raymond," I remind him. "It has only been a few hours."

"I know," he sighs, coming to rest finally, settling himself on the edge of the bed as he takes Peter's other hand in his. His breathing is still labored, and his free hands wraps carefully around his chest. "I just... I just want him to know he's safe."

"...know... Ray."

"Peter?"

Ray's whisper and the statement that spawned it are both thinner than air, but I hear Winston's boots hit the floor from their perch on the edge of the bed as I push myself up to stand at the head of it. Peter's eyes open slowly, reluctantly... as if he is not entirely certain there is anything to see beyond them.

"Peter? How do you feel?" He simply stares at me for a moment, with a look of... blankness... that disturbs me. "Do you remember what happened?"

He grins faintly and quirks an eyebrow at me. "Feel like... spaghetti," he answers, giving his old familiar refrain. "And... happened... lash... hell."

A cold wave washes over me at the broken string of words, and I know it must show on my face, as Peter's eyes close in pain. He breathes deeply for a moment, fighting the tired twitching of his muscles before seeming to concentrate all of his being on the words he means to say. I've seen the look before...

Can it really have been less than two weeks ago?

"...fragmenting, aren't I?" he asks in an cool, arid tone. He can't--or won't--open his eyes to hear the answer. I reach out and squeeze his hand, unwilling to let him persist in his mental reenactment.

"A bit," I admit candidly, watching his eyes finally open to fix me with a weary gaze. "Your system is... less than recovered."

"...which trauma?"

"Relax, homeboy," Winston advises, squeezing one of the toes on Peter's left foot. "Just give yourself a minute."

Peter nods, a small smile playing about his lips. "...okay, Zed?"

"Takes more than a class five to bring me down, Pete, you know that." I am glad, at the moment, that Peter's line of sight does not include a view of Winston's gray visage as he swallows desperately against his nausea.

Peter's smile deepens, his eyes drifting closed, only to snap open again, their green tinted by fear.

"It's okay, Peter," Ray whispers fervently, reaching out to place a hand on his forehead. Peter seems to revel in the touch--in all our touches--as if the feelings anchor him to us. I can see in Ray and Winston's eyes that they have no more intention of letting go than I do. "Just rest... You'll feel better when you wake up."

"...so, Ray..." Peter replies in shards, already easing back into sleep. "can't... worse."

And yet I fear it can get worse... Much worse. I suppose we have all been deluding ourselves, thinking that the danger of fallout from Peter's imprisonment had passed. And yet, with one simple bust, it all seems to have come crashing back on him again.

And I am not at all sure of how well he can weather another storm so soon after the last.

**********

The ghost is here.

I can't see it, and it doesn't make any noise, but I can... I can feel it. And me without my proton pack.

I wonder if the guys know I'm here... They never did before, but I have to--I _have_ to remember that they'd never leave me all alone here...

All alone.

All alone, and no one to--

Okay, that never really made any sense to me. I mean, I know what it _means_ , but I was never that type--even after I came out of the closet.

And I'm out. I know that. I just have to connect.

Feel the bed, Pete. Feel the bed underneath you, and the IV in your arm and...

I can feel Ray's hand taking up permanent residence on my forehead, feel Egon's grip on my fingers--hell, even Winston's holding on to a toe, for God's sake, but...

But I still feel like they're miles away.

Egon's snoozing. Not enough to let loose those bulldozers of his, but enough that I can tell. Man, he must really be worried, because his grip hasn't loosened at all, like he's still grabbing for me in his sleep.

"Do you think he'll be okay, Winston?"

I don't know, Ray. I figure this time, I might actually have lost it altogether. After all, I can't even deal now, and I _know_ you're here. I should be able to open my eyes, right? I... should know I'm awake.

"Yeah, Ray, I think he'll be okay." Maybe. Still, nice to know at least _you_ have some faith in me, even if I don't. "Just... brought it all back to him."

Yep. Every psychotic, elongated second, Zed. Every word you guys said, every time I tried to scream...

Every minute you ignored me.

My eyes pop open at the thought, taking in Ray, hovering above but looking over me. Probably at Winston. No. No, you didn't ignore me, did you, Tex? You just... Didn't see me is all. Like now.

"Hey, Pete, how you feeling?"

Zed's question draws Ray's focus back to me, and he smiles brightly, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. I let my gaze wander down as I hear Winston push to his feet. His head and shoulders come into view, and I know he was lying to me earlier. He looks like hell. The skin around the bandage on his forehead...? Gray is not your color, my friend.

"Hi, Peter."

I let my eyes drift back to Ray, who's sitting a little too stiffly on the bed beside me. Okay, Venkman. You can do this. One word at a time. "Hey... Tex." Trying to keep my brains in?

Damn. I thought I said that. Judging by his face, I _think_ I got out the Tex bit, anyway. I'm just too tired to try again, though. I can't try... Any of it.

Shit, I just got this down again!

"You look better, Peter."

Thanks Ray. Better than "what? A jello shot?"

His eyes darken a little, and I know that, yet again, the Venkman mouth has failed me. He slumps a little, and catches himself, straightening with a gasp.

"What" did you do to your"self, Ray?" Play floor hockey "with the ghost?"

Well, fuck this. I'm not even going to bother right now.

Except to say this: "Did" everybody take a "hit" on this bust?

Zed's face clears after a second, and he answers a question I didn't ask.

"We got 'em, Pete. Bagged 'em both."

Par for the course. Still, how can you understand a guy who can't even speak the language?

Egon sits up suddenly, a guilty look on his face. I know him. He's feeling bad he fell asleep. "Peter?"

"I'm okay, Spengs." Just a little "shaky."

Wow. One out of two ain't bad.

"Dr. Guider had... some colorful words for us," he says wryly. He's trying, but there's a team full of shadows in his eyes that I almost can't look at. Of course, to _not_ look at them, I'd have to close my eyes again... So not going to happen. "He feels it was too soon for you to consider taking on a class five."

Well you didn't " _tell_ me it" was a class five, did you? And if "you say I told you so," I'll smack you.

Damn. Egon, don't look at me like...

Damn, damn, damn. Okay, guys, forget it for now. Just...

Forget it.

************

I wonder when Jim's going to start charging us?

Pete just kind of slipped away on us again after Egon woke up, and I think we all decided at the same moment that we needed more help for this. Again. Damn, we just went through this! Pete was finally starting to deal...

Jim shooed us all out as soon as he got here, and now I'm left with two wired scientists and a headache that won't quit. And if anybody thinks I'm spilling my guts about my little trip to the boys' room a few minutes ago, they're crazy. God knows I did enough spilling while I was in there.

"Winston, you should be in bed."

"Like you shouldn't?"

Ray looks worse than I feel--which, I'm telling you, is a hell of a feat. The doc in the ER told him to take it easy, and I'm pretty sure she wasn't counting pacing and climbing up on hospital beds.

"My bed's not open for business right now, Ray." Not that I wouldn't like to lie down and sleep for a week--even in a hospital room--but I'm not going anywhere until Pete comes back.

And he's coming back. If I have to drag him every step of the way. After all, what the hell am I going to do with Egon if he doesn't?

Our favorite physicist is playing with his calculator. Probably not doing anything constructive--or anything requiring thought, for that matter. Just playing--trying to kill time. Trying not to think about what might be going on in Pete's brain right now.

"Do you want a cup of coffee?" Ray asks me suddenly, more frantic than helpful.

"Raymond, please sit down."

The fake energy floods out, and Ray collapses into the seat next to me, nursing his ribs.

Egon's the only one that can get through to Ray when he's like this; so damn eager to make sure that everyone else's okay. He'd probably fetch and carry from his deathbed, if it'd make the rest of us feel better.

"He'll be okay."

Again, pure Ray. He has to say it--even when he doesn't think it's true. He says it, because somebody has to.

And right now, I don't think Egon or I could.

***********

"What happens when you fire in such a small space?"

Ever try to use a "flamethrower" in an "elevator?"

"Peter."

Shit. Come on, Jimmy, give me a break here! I take a deep breath. "Ever try to use a flamethrower in an elevator?"

He nods approvingly, and I suddenly remember my first grade teacher, smiling at the idiot who'd finally learned to read _See Spot Run_.

"So...?"

"Why'd I" do it? Damn. I got it, Jimmy, I got it. "Why'd I do it?" I don't know. "Because I was scared shitless?"

"I can imagine."

Can you? I don't mean to be an asshole, but "you don't have a clue."

He looks me up and down, and I shiver at the scrutiny. He's going to commit me after this. God knows he should.

"Could you feel anything?"

I shrug, but, as usual, that just ain't enough for him. "At first." I know I'm not still twitching from the backlash, but I can't stop shaking as I close my eyes. "But it was dark."

God, it was dark. Just like--

"Peter, open your eyes."

The command does it, and I lurch back out of the closet to see him watching me. God, it just kills me that he even needs to be here! Jimmy and I are supposed to go out for drinks. We're supposed to debate the teasability of names for his coming baby. We're not supposed to play patient and doctor because the "guys won't help me!"

"They would if you'd let them."

Shit. I hate that. If I'm going to be a mute for the rest of my life, can't it be every word? It'd sure save a lot of embarrassment.

"Peter..." He's picking every syllable. "The guys don't know what to do here." Of course they don't. How could they? "And you running away from them isn't helping."

What?

I'm not running away. I "can't run away." I'm "trapped here" for the duration. Unfortunately.

"You've got a great hiding place right here," he tells me quietly, tapping me in the head. "And you're using it too damn much."

"What? You think I _want_ to play Lassie for the rest of my life? You think I like making them have to guess every word I'm trying to say?" I turn away from him. "Damnit, Jimmy! I'm trying, all right! I'm trying. But every time I close my eyes, it's like I'm right back in that fucking tank!"

I said that. I said every word.

"I can't deal with this anymore," Jimmy. I can't... I can't have this happen every time I'm so much as stuck in an elevator for a minute. "I can't live my life" like that. I can't make the guys live their lives like that...

"Pete?" Jimmy's quiet whisper makes me turn to him. It's that _assessor_ tone: the one we all use to make sure people aren't ready to...

"I'll live, Jimmy."

I just won't like it very much.

***********

I push open the door to their hospital room slowly, a perverse hope that they are both asleep lingering in my mind. Peter's eyes are fixed on the ceiling, however, and the bleak look on his face pulls at me.

"Peter?"

Those eyes jerk down to focus on me, and the bleakness fades, replaced by something very like relief. He's been alone with his thoughts too long.

"Hey, Egon..."

I try not to react to whatever else he might have thought he said, and give him a reassuring smile. Winston gives off one light snore, and Peter's smile deepens.

"...he okay?"

"Yes," I state quickly, sitting in the chair between their beds. "He has a minor concussion, but he'll be all right, after some rest."

Peter nods, his eyes closing briefly. "...Ray?"

"Three broken ribs." I see immediately that that wasn't the question he asked, so I rush on to answer the only other likely one. "Janine came to take him back to the firehouse. He needs rest, as well."

Green eyes fix me with an assessing gaze, as he takes a deep breath, bracing himself to speak. "You look like you could use some, too."

I almost damn the thrill that runs through me at a whole sentence from him. That we--that _he_ must go through all of this again so soon...

"I was, thankfully, uninjured," I assure him. His eyes disbelieve my claim--at the very least, he knows I am not _well_. None of us are.

"...home and--" He grimaces angrily and tries again. "You should go home and get some sleep, Spengs." He smiles a little, his gaze wandering to the bed beside his. "I'll look... Zed."

He may wish me to go, but he should know, after twenty years of friendship, that I cannot.

"I spoke with James."

His smile fades, though the wry look that replaces it is equally Peter. "So where to? Bellevue, or Arkham?"

"Peter," I admonish quellingly.

He smirks at the tone, one hand wandering to play with the IV in the other arm. "Been giving... Jimmy lessons, Egon?" The effort of that question tells on his face.

"He's... very concerned, Peter." I reach out to still his probing fingers, and squeeze his hand in comfort. "We all are."

"...not gonna off myself..." A deep breath, and he plunges in again. "I just... hate this."

Because it scares me. Words he would not say, even if he could.

"We want to help you, Peter." I try to convey everything to him in my candid gaze. "We will get through this."

He shrugs. "Shouldn't have to."

"Yes, well," I shoot back, dry wit coming to me unbidden. "You are hardly the easiest man to live with, at the best of times."

He grins at the normalcy. "Which this really isn't, right?"

The smile we share reaches our eyes, and he sighs after a moment, squeezing my fingers before releasing them.

"Go home, Spengs. Get some sleep."

"I can doze as well here--"

"No!"

The sharp tone is unlike him, but the immediate chagrin is.

"Sorry... I just... to think." He lets out a painful breath at this latest failure and pegs me with regretful eyes. "Please, Egon?"

Please. James made me promise many things this afternoon. One of them was that if Peter ever asked me to leave--and truly wished it...

"All right." My acquiescence surprises him, but I can see relief in his face. As I rise, promising quietly to return tomorrow, he grabs my hand again, his grip tight enough to make me rethink my promise.

"Thanks." What he thanks me for is written in his visage. Thank you for being here. Thank you for leaving.

Thank you for listening.

"Always, Peter," I promise quietly.

And my eyes do not leave his until the door shuts silently behind me.

***********

Ah, home sweet home!

They had to dope me up to get me into the CAT scan, but, surprise, surprise, Petey hasn't managed to kill off any more brain cells.

Of course, Guider's sure I didn't have any left to begin with. I gotta remember to tell the guys to take me somewhere else next time I--

You can say it, Venkman--okay, you can't, but then you can't say much, can you? Next time I go off the deep end.

It'll happen. I know it. It's like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, and I just know that one swift kick from Mr. Psyche will send me off. And from the looks they're giving me, I know the guys know it, too. And the fact that they have to watch it is making everything harder, somehow.

Winston's better--still puking up a storm, but better. And Ray's almost got his bounce back. Hell, he'd have it back in spades if it wasn't for me. I pull myself back to reality, focusing on Egon's explanation of the class fours that weren't. Guess he figured it was time to get back to normal. And you don't get more normal than a painfully boring staff meeting, do you?

"...were masked by the nature of the site," he says. He's such a know-it-all. Wish he'd known how to get me out of that damn--

Stop it, all right? Just... stop it.

Ray cuts in, smiling at the mystery solved. "The whole place was metal," he explains brightly. "It was like having a ship built of mirrors--everything bounced."

"Including Zed."

What can I say? I'm hopeless.

"Die, Venkman."

Well, at least Zed can say the word. D-word? Big nono around here lately. Like I'm going to run for a kitchen knife if I hear it.

Yep, there it is. Egon and Ray, looking as scared as five-year-olds facing the Bogeyman. Winston's just smiling though, and I join him. Can't work up to a snappy rejoinder, but the smile seems to do it.

"So how do we stop it from happening again?" Winston asks as the two watchdogs stand down. "I mean, we can't just walk into it blind every time. You know how many ships get ghosts?"

"A surprising number," Spengs throws back, still keeping an eye on me. I stick out my tongue, and he finally looks away with a grin. "I believe we will need to come up with a way to filter out the refractions..."

Snooze time again. Egon and Ray will be at this for a week, drowning Zed and me in technobabble until they get it figured out.

"...using Slimer as a control, we could return to the barge and--"

"No way!"

The words are out before I realize I'm saying them--before I even realize what made me say them in the first place. Well that's brilliant, Venkman. Not like walking onto that barge is going to be any worse than facing your closet every day.

"Egon and I were going to do it, Peter," Ray responds quickly. His eyes are those damn puppy ones, and I'm suddenly looking for imaginary basset hounds.

There aren't any, of course, but Ray does do a great impression. Stupid, Peter. Really, really stupid.

"I... Sorry guys." And I really am. "I just don't..."

"Want to relive it." Thanks, Zed. "It's okay, man. You and I are on walking wounded status, anyway." His grin wipes away at least a little fear. "We'll let these two do the dirty work."

'Cause Ray is _so_ up to that. He's moving like a ninety-year-old, and I know those ribs have got to be killing him. But... Shit. I can't do this...

"It's all right, Peter," Egon says quietly, reaching out to lay a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

That's not the point, Spengs. "You shouldn't have to" censor every "word" because of "me."

Oh, well, God _damn_ it!

I'm on my feet in a second, feeling the walls close in. "I gotta get some air, guys."

And I'm gone.

And, as usual lately, no one follows me.

Standard coping technique--I'm sure Jimmy explained it to them. Sometimes, a guy's just got to get the hell out before the concern in the room makes him scream.

And screaming is sounding awfully good to me right now.

************

I will give him five minutes.

"Egon... He's just got to work things out."

"I know that, Winston." But I will still follow him in five minutes. The lab door slammed shut behind him with such force a moment ago that I am surprised it is still on its hinges. I understand the rationale behind James's request that we give Peter the space he seems to need, but I simply cannot allow him to go through this alone.

"He knows we're here, Egon." Ray's quiet announcement should give me some relief from what has become a crushing worry, but it does not.

Ray and Winston were both dozing when James first walked out of Peter's hospital room yesterday. They did not see the concern and... fear... that I glimpsed in his face. A week ago, he told me he truly believed that Peter had worked through what could have been... destructive thoughts, but yesterday...

I could not see such assurance in his eyes.

I have never believed Peter capable of even entertaining such thoughts, but I am sure he and the others thought that of Barry back in college. There are many things that might drive a man toward the ultimate self-destruction... And Peter has always been so good at the lesser forms...

Four minutes. Four more minutes, and then...

*************

It's a big world out here.

Standing on the roof, I can see, and I can feel, and I can damn near taste the smog...

And it's all real.

Not like the flashback yesterday. Not like the... the feeling of nothing I can still glimpse if I close my eyes. _This_ is real and so are the guys and so is...

And so is the fact that I'm terrified I'm going to go through this all over again sometime. Or worse, that I'm not going to come out the other side.

I don't want them to have to deal with it, though. Me? Okay, I'm a basketcase, but I pretty much knew that the first time I wigged on a ferris wheel. Or ran away from a soon-to-be friend. My life's pretty much one big trauma, right? I mean, that's why most psychologists become psychologists, after all. We're so screwed up, we just feel a need to help somebody else with their angst, if we can--or at least feel like our traumas aren't so bad in comparison. Bet Jimmy's feeling pretty damn stable, just now.

But this time... I just can't. I can't help Egon stop worrying, and I can't help Ray figure out why this had to happen, and I can't help Winston stop feeling sorry for me. I can't even stop the shaking!

Out here, though... I can almost feel human again. The city's looming over me, all concrete and brick and glass, and the traffic downstairs sounds heavy in the evening rush hour. Here, I can almost believe everything is going to right itself.

The world is going to come back.

But then I close my eyes, and I'm right back in the tank again. I can't even feel myself walking across the roof, can't see the traffic over the edge, can't...

Open your eyes, Peter.

I'm standing on the edge--literally this time. Looking down three stories, all the cars are like matchbox toys. Maybe not that small, but those little metal cars did seem bigger when I was a six, so the analogy still holds. I sit down, swinging my legs over, dangling them like a little kid, and I'm not even afraid of the height anymore.

I wonder if you die instantly from a three-story drop...

"Peter, what are you doing?"

Egon's voice, soft and shocked, still causes me to jerk back, and my hands grip the concrete ledge in self-defense.

Probably wouldn't kill me. Hell, I'd probably bounce. Like Winston.

"You want" street "pizza" for a "partner, Spengs?"

"I most certainly do not." He must have gotten the words I didn't, but his voice is still tiny... And he's still as terrified as I am.

Then don't "sneak up" on "me" like that!

"Peter..." He takes a deep breath, and I try to get up enough energy to wince at the pain in it. "Please come away from there."

Great idea. The height is getting to me now--more than the idea of what a fall like that would...

That should just scare me shitless, shouldn't it?

He keeps a firm grasp on my sweatshirt until I'm safely back on the roof, and he has a hand at my back as he walks me toward the door. But when I stop, halfway there, he stops with me.

"Peter?"

"This isn't going to get better, is it?" I barely notice the words. I just know that I'm losing it, and that this one brief second of... clarity... is going to go on and on.

Until I bounce.

"It will, Peter," he whispers, fear making his voice even deeper. "It has to."

It doesn't have to, Spengs. "It" can always "get worse."

"No!" The grip he takes on my arm is steel, and he turns me to face him. "Damn it, Peter, why won't you let us help you!?"

"Because you can't." Because you can't, and if I fall, "I'll be taking you with me."

"And we will be there, Peter."

What? Wait a minute... What did I actually _say_?

"We will be with you every step of the way, Peter, but you cannot shut us out like this. You cannot hide away from us."

Strong words. Egon can... He can be so damn earnest. I don't know why anyone thinks he's got no emotions. They damn near shout at me. The fear and the pain and the... caring.

I know you care, Spengs, I just "don't know what to do to make it stop."

"To make what stop, Peter?"

Okay, I'm going to say this. All of this. Hopefully, only once. "The fear that I'm going to see it every time I close my eyes. The fear that I'm not going to be able to just get on with my life." The fear that I'll just, one day...

Bounce.

He's silent for a long time, like he knows he can't make that stop, but he wishes he could.

"Peter... I know that yesterday--that it must have been difficult." Difficult, he says! Doesn't even cover it, buddy. "But I had thought... before then..." He takes a deep breath, and I hate that I'm going to have to admit this. "You told me--"

"I lied."

He wants to be angry. God, he really, _really_ wants to be angry. But anger is unproductive, right, Spengs? If Jimmy told you that, he's a liar, too.

"Why?"

Huh? Not the question I thought he'd ask. Why...?

"You guys shouldn't have to deal with this. It... shouldn't be this hard." It shouldn't! I mean, come on. This is--this is cake, right? A little time in the tank?

"I'm sure Barry White thought the same thing."

Oh, shit, Egon. Low blow.

"I'm sure that Barry did not wish to 'bother' his intended with his problems. I'm sure he thought he could 'handle it.'"

I'm sure that was faint comfort when he killed himself. God knows, I wish he'd bothered me.

Egon's hands are tight on my arms again, and I need them there. I'm not sure I'd still be standing otherwise.

"Peter, this is as difficult as it is." Great logic, Spengs. "No matter how long it takes, we _will_ be here to help you." His voice drops, and his forehead bumps against mine. "We won't lose you because you didn't wish to bother us."

Tears again. God, I am so damn tired of tears. Mine, Ray's, Egon's... But the wet tracks on my face are at least something I can feel, right? That and the pressure of Egon's forehead against mine, the feel of his hands on my arms...

"I can't..." No. Don't stop, Peter. Not now. "I don't know why I can't just let it go, Spengs. I just keep thinking if... If Barry felt like this _all the time_ , if that's why he..."

And if it was better then.

"Peter, I can't imagine what it was like for you--and don't believe I haven't tried." I buy that, Egon. I bet you spent a good week just trying to get inside my head. "But I do know that _you_ know what it was like." He pulls away, catching my gaze and holding it with those blue eyes that have always seen everything. Even when I didn't want them to. "And I am here to listen, if you will only talk to me."

The laugh catches me unaware, and it has a bitter edge to it. "I've been talking since I got back, Egon. And I know you guys are listening... now." My head drops. I'm too tired to hold up the thoughts in it. "But I've been talking for days."

"Maybe it just takes more."

I look up at the voice to see Ray standing next to me, and I wonder how long he and Zed have been there. Probably freaked when they realized I went up on the roof. I know Ray knew Barry better than I did.

And I know bouncing wouldn't have helped. I know I'm... God, at least I know I'm strong enough not to do that... But sitting on the edge like that...?

"Pete, you know you can't do this by yourself, right?"

Yeah, Zed. I know. I just... "I'm sick of thinking about it."

"You're obviously not." Oh, thanks, Spengs! You're a big help. "Peter, you need to come to grips with this--" I thought I did that! "--and you haven't. As much as you'd like us to believe--as much as you'd like to believe yourself--you're only hurting yourself more by pretending it doesn't faze you."

But it _shouldn't_ faze me, Egon! Don't you see!? "I've gone up against class nines and demons and--and _Dad_ \--and it shouldn't--"

"But it does, homeboy. Deal with it."

That morsel of wisdom makes me laugh, and this time, it almost sounds sane. But it dies off quickly, and I feel my eyes close, and steel myself for the sensation of no sensation.

But I can still feel Egon's hands on my arms.

"I don't think I can do this." I can't believe the whisper comes from me. It's sad and desolate, and so... tired.

"But we can, Peter," Ray whispers back. It's his forehead against mine now, and Zed's hand on my shoulder. "Together."

Yeah. I pull in a shaky breath. Together. I open my eyes, looking up at all of them, and I don't feel the kind of manic release I felt last week in the garage. That wasn't real. But this...

This feeling of... if not hope then something like it... This is real. And the guys, and the city, and...

And with all this reality, I might just make it.

* * *  
The End


End file.
